


White Blank Page

by eringilbert



Category: Halloween Horror Nights at Universal Studios
Genre: Gore, Origin Story, Psychological Trauma, Tags to be added, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eringilbert/pseuds/eringilbert
Summary: 1955.22 year old aspiring author Elsa Strict moves to New York City with hopes of changing the lives of young children and perhaps something more. However, her dreams are hindered by one damning secret: her ability to conjure up her fantasies in real life.One day, she finds an old, blank storybook whose pages seem to be immune to her abilities. The storybook, however, has plans of its own, and they won’t end in an happily ever after.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first HHN fanfiction! The Storyteller has always been my favorite Icon, mostly because of the seemingly endless possibilities for her backstory. So, I decided to write this. 
> 
> I don’t own any characters tagged. All others, however, are mine.
> 
> (Title is from the song of the same name by Mumford and Sons)

Elsa’s earliest memory of her abilities was when she was merely five. She was writing a nonsensical story about a blue dog named Fido. Seeing their young daughter babble about playing with that very same blue dog wasn’t enough for her parents to be concerned; they merely dismissed it as childhood fantasies, ones they’ve both had as youngsters.

The next memory was when Elsa was eight. She was assigned by her grade school teacher to write about she wanted to be when she grew up. Hearing stories about cartoon strips coming to life and telling their daughter fantastical stories was, again, not enough for her parents to be concerned. However, they couldn’t help but be worried.

The next memory, however, was when everything changed. It was when Elsa was thirteen, and it was a report on the war efforts. Her mother awoke one evening to horrible screams. As she opened the door to her only daughter’s bedroom, she saw Elsa huddled on the ground, sobbing about “the bombs.”

That was when she was thrown into Shadybrook Rest Home and Sanitarium for a psychological evaluation.

Elsa absolutely hated it. She knew she wasn’t crazy, that what she would say and write was real. How come nobody else could understand that?

So, in order to keep her sanity, Elsa turned to the only thing that gave her joy: writing. She wrote and wrote and wrote every day until her hand ached. By the time the exams were over, she had written an entire novel.

It was a novel about hope, betrayal, love, and new beginnings. The main character’s name was Lucy, and her life had been horribly horrific, in Elsa’s words. The vast majority of the novel took place in an undisclosed hospital, much like the one Elsa was in. However, the novel ended with the pregnancy of Lucy by her hospital lover Jim, resulting in the birth of two beautiful twin boys. They were written as symbols for hope, peace, everything that Elsa was drained of while at Shadybrook.

Her mother threw it in the trash.

“What obscene lunacy!” Her mother Dolores screeched as tears slowly formed in Elsa’s eyes. “Do you truly think anyone would want to read a story by a freak like you?” 

“Yes,” Elsa said defiantly. Her mother’s eyes widened, taken aback by the normally obedient girl’s behavior. “What did you just say?” Dolores asked slowly. She hoped for a rebuttal or perhaps an apology for the word.

Instead, she received the same word again. “I said, yes,” her daughter repeated with a smug smile. The smile enraged Dolores. In seemingly a blink of an eye, the mother grabbed a knife and lunges towards her daughter, smashing her to the kitchen floor.

Pining the young girl down, Dolores grabbed Elsa’s tongue. “I’ll show you for talking down to me, you insane little bitch!” Dolores yelled as the knife itched closer to the surface. As soon as metal hit tongue and the taste of blood soon trickled down her throat, Elsa took control of her left hand and punched her mother in the face. The shock of the punch caused Dolores to drop her knife and lose her grip on Elsa, allowing the young girl to get up and dart towards the front door. She ran and ran and ran, she ran even when she felt like her feet would give out. She didn’t know where she was going, but all Elsa knew was that she had to go somewhere. Anywhere. 

She just could not stay here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: vague descriptions of attempted sexual assault

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

“You’ve asked me that around five times already, honey!”

“Well, your responses are not very convincing when you keep scratching at your hand.”

With that, Elsa stopped scratching her hand.

They stood outside of Universe Publishing, a beautiful building right in the heart of New York City. Elsa and her companion stood outside of it to pass the time before her important meeting.

“Are you sure you have everything? Transcripts, pens, your glasses?” Hiro asked. Hiro was Elsa’s boyfriend of about three months. Although three months was a fairly short time span, they were head over heels in love.

Elsa pulled out each thing Hiro had listed. She looked at her watch and said, “Well, I have to go now.” Hiro pulled her into a quick kiss, saying “You’re going to kill it.” The couple broke away and waved to each other as Elsa walked inside the building.

***

She found herself sitting across from Universe Publishing CEO Alfred Weinberg. He was a tall man with facial hair growing everywhere besides his head. His appearance would be considered comical to Elsa if he wasn’t the one responsible for the possible decision to publish her works.

“So,” he began, “what exactly is this ‘Schmidt’s Circle’ about again?”

Elsa gulped. “Well, it’s about a woman who gets committed to a mental institution for a crime she never did and-“

“Stop,” Weinberg said. “If she never committed the crime, why was she even admitted? It makes no sense.”

“That’s the hook I was giving readers. I want them to try and figure out why and throughout the story-“

“And what exactly was the crime, Miss Strict?” Weinberg was now inching closer to her, hands on his desk and his body stretching overtop.

Elsa stretched forward as well. “Murder,” she said, “Lucy Schmidt was accused of murder.”

Weinberg sat back and grabbed a cigar. As he lit the cigar up, he said, “you know, Elsa, you’re not a very intriguing author.”

‘Not intriguing? Do you even know what I do, what I am? And you call my writing not intriguing even when I can-‘ she interrupted her thoughts. No, she had to be professional. She glided her tongue along her teeth. Elsa could sometimes feel the indentation her mother caused those so many years ago.

“However,” Weinberg continued as he walked over to the front of the desk, “you are absolutely gorgeous.” He grabbed Elsa’s hands and guided them to his crotch. “God, you truly are beautiful,” his voice was strained, as if he was already turned on. 

If he was, he was certainly less turned on when Elsa punched his crotch and ran out of the office.

***

Hiro’s apartment was relatively small, but it was cozy enough for Elsa to feel at home. The two laid in bed, close to sleep but just awake enough for conversation.

“I swear, Elsie, I will find that man and murder him if I have to,” Hiro said, using the nickname his mother had given to her when they first met.

“Babe, people still think you and your parents are Japanese spies. I don’t want you in any more trouble. It’ll only fuel their hate,” she said with concern. 

Hiro straightened up. “Well, what if I told you that I am?” he asked. 

“Gosh, stop it!” Elsa said with a laugh, to which he joined in. He could never be a spy; he could barely contain a white lie in.

Elsa slowly stopped laughing and began to fiddle with her fingers. Hiro looked confused and asked what was wrong. “Hiro,” she asked, “am I a good writer?” He frowned. 

“Of course you are, honeybun,” Hiro said as he pulled her into a hug. “You’re one of the best writers I know, and I’m not just saying that cause we’re going steady.” Elsa could tell that he wasn’t lying. She nestled into his shoulder and said softly, “I love you” as she fell asleep, tired from the day’s events. Hiro kissed her forehead and soon drifted off as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep your eyes peeled for a very important cameo ;)

She saw her father again last night.

From what she remembered him to be, he was a kindly soul, much moreso than her mother. If she was to recount to you exactly what he looked like if you saw her on the street, she would fail to remember anything. However, her dreams had enough vivid detail to make her remember everything about him.

They were on a beach. Where, she didn’t know. Perhaps they were on Dunkirk; that was where he was last seen, after all. But it was just them. No bombs, no ships, no soldiers, just them. The father and daughter that looked too alike for their own goods.

And alike they looked. Both had light blond hair (Elsa’s being fairly longer and her father’s was slightly curlier), silver eyes, and slightly tanned skin. However, he had a puzzled look on his face, as if unable to figure out who she was.

Elsa outstretched her arm towards her father right before a bomb suddenly rips them apart.

She woke up with a start, sweat dripping down her face and hands trembling. She looked to her side. Hiro was sound asleep, yet his hand lingered on hers. Elsa smiled. She laid back down on the bed and nestled herself closer to him, with him sleepily adjusting his position to make room for her in his arms. With that, she fell back asleep.

***

“You look tired,” was the last thing she wanted to hear today.

“Yeah, didn’t get a good sleep last night,” Elsa responded. Although she had fallen back asleep after the dream of her father, the thought of it still lingered throughout the night.

The woman walking with her frowned. Her name was Betty, a woman in her early 30s that was the closest Elsa considered to a true friend in the office. They worked at a children’s publishing firm. Elsa was the receptionist and Betty was a secretary. One day, she asked the older woman who she worked for. Betty smiled and said that she didn’t even know who she worked for.

Perhaps that response is what drew Elsa to the older woman.

They were outside sharing cigarettes and comparing brands. Probably their most exciting part of the day. The two never really interacted within the workspace, but always found solace in each other’s comfort during breaks. In an office full of meatheads and jerks, it was good to know that she had some kind of companion here.

The two women were on their lunch break when they decided to wander around their block. It was a very peculiar place of the city, with shops full of knick-knacks lined up one after the other. However, there was one in particular that Betty had wanted to go to.

“Rodey’s Recollections,” Elsa said aloud as her and Betty arrived at the shop. “That’s odd, I’ve never seen this store before,” she continued, but soon realized that she was speaking to nobody as the older woman had already entered the store. Elsa sighed and followed suit.

Although seemingly brand new, the store was old and dusty, as if all of the furnishings inside had been just sitting inside waiting for the store to open to the public. There was nothing particularly special about the place. In fact, it was less impressive and more expensive than most second-hand stores ($100 for a small bust of Karl Marx? Seems pretty ironic). 

Elsa found herself at the back of the store, which was underneath a sign with “BUY NOW OR REGRET LATER!” scribbled in red ink. She read the sign three times in order to understand what it meant but to no avail. Nevertheless, she began scanning the shelves for any eye-catching things that could potentially liven up her desk or perhaps Hiro’s apartment.

That is when she saw it.

It was an old, raggedy storybook. Elsa dragged it from underneath a narrow shelf to get a good look at it. Ancient leather and faded golden embroidery covered the book and its unevenly cut pages. As she flipped through, however, she noticed something odd; the pages were blank.

“I see you’ve found the book.”

Elsa turned around to see an elderly man standing right behind her. 

“Yes,” she said softly.

“I’ve had this baby since I first got into this business. Somehow, nobody wants to claim it. Always saying it was too old or too peculiar. However, I like peculiar,” the old man said. Elsa noticed that he had incredibly bright green eyes, something she had never seen before, not even in her stories.

He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll tell you what,” he began, “I can see in your eyes that you want this. If you want it, I’ll let you have it for free.” Elsa was confused. This? For free? It seemed like an offer too good to be true. However, the more she looked into the man’s green eyes, she began to feel a bit of solace and comfort, like she wholeheartedly trusted him.

It didn’t take long for her to walk out of the shop, the book in one hand and a freshly lit cigarette in the other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that writing Elsa’s powers is so much fun? Cause it is

Elsa loved the peace and quiet. It provided her the absolute best conditions for writing and creation. It was like her books and the apartment were her canvases, while she was the painter about to create her next masterpiece.

And in a sense, she was. She was the painter, the artist, the storyteller of her very own creations.

She looked at the book she bought earlier that day. She had set it on her bookshelf immediately when she got home, attempting to store it away until she got through the other books she was writing. Elsa had an awful tendency to start multiple stories at the same time, so she was determined to break the habit now.

The book that she took out of her desk drawer was starting to become very old and frail. Multiple titles had been written and scribbled out across the cover, with the current one being titled “The Widow’s Eye.” It was a romance story about a young woman who had lost her husband in the war who gets a new outlook on life while meeting a documentarian.

Elsa flipped through the notebook to the part where she last left off. The beginnings of a discussion between Viola, the main character, and Paolo, her foreign love interest, about the magic of film. “Ok, ok, let’s get started,” she muttered to herself. She took the notebook to the left of the apartment, which was relatively empty and dark. After setting it on the floor, she went around and hastily drew the blinds and curtains to a close. She had to make sure that no one could see what was about to happen.

The woman returned to the book and bent down. She tapped her pen onto her chin as she thought of the best way to kickstart this conversation. Suddenly, it came to her. Elsa wrote down “VIOLA. PAOLO. DINING. FILM.”

The four words began to glow on the paper before slowly rising from the old ink-stained pages. If you could hear closely, they seemed to almost giggle, encouraging Elsa to do what she did best. And she did. She slowly grabbed the four words and cupped them into her hands. They vibrated against her palms, eager to get started. Elsa gave them their wish and threw them into the air. 

The room around her transformed into a black and white picture. Her vision of a classic, simplistic romance was coming together before her very eyes. This, of course, was not new, but it was always amazing to see the work you actually wanted to do get done. 

There she saw it; the Victorian dining room belonging to the elegant and elaborate Viola. The counters were crystal clear and the cupboards looked newly scrubbed. And there sat the woman herself. Viola Von Baron was a sophisticated, beautiful woman with long black hair and an incredibly sharp jaw structure. Although she could be scary to some, deep down inside she was a total sweetheart.

At least that’s how Elsa envisions her to be.

But something was missing. She looked around the scene to figure out what it was. Suddenly, she heard a wheeze from the floor and saw the PAOLO lying face first on the ground, with FILM trying to help it up. 

“Oh my, I’m so sorry!” Elsa said to the little word. “I promise I’ll be more gentle on you the next time, is that okay?” she asked. The PAOLO shook itself as a sign of agreement. With that, she took both PAOLO and FILM and set them onto a counter within the scene. FILM flew around the scene, getting smaller and smaller until it eventually was just dust in the wind. PAOLO, however, began to morph into the man. Paolo Ravinski was short and not exactly well kemp, but he had that charm that every woman couldn’t resist.

“Alright,” she muttered to herself, rubbing her hands together, “let’s get to it.”

She snapped her fingers, and the scene began. Paolo sat down across from Viola, coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Elsa pointed her finger at the cigarette and pretended to move it to his mouth, with him actually doing the deed. She did a similar thing with Viola, the author’s finger swirling in her direction as the character stirred her coffee.

“Paolo,” Elsa said while being echoed by Viola. “Why are you so fascinated by film?”

Paolo took another breath of his cigarette. “You see, my dear Viola,” two voices said to the woman, “film is something so much more than what meets the eye.”

“It is a gift,” Elsa said.

“It is a weapon,” Paolo said.

Elsa paused. What did he just say? 

“Repeat,” she muttered. The scene reset to the beginning, with everything going as smoothly as it could. However, after “film is something so much more than what meets the eye,” that is when the weapon line was repeated. Elsa walked over the book on the floor and slammed it shut, effectively ending the scene.

She slowly opened up the book, flipping to the page where the manuscript of the events were written. The same line was in the book.

What was going on?


End file.
